


Heroes & Villains

by jamespadfoot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Finale filler, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespadfoot/pseuds/jamespadfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the behest of Rumplestiltskin, Isaac displaces the characters from Once Upon A Time into Heroes & Villains, where what was once is now no more. In a world where everyone is to be black and white, three things becomes apparently clear quickly. One, Killian Jones was/is/always will be destined for Emma Swan. Two, everyone exists in shades of grey. Three, Henry Mills will no longer sit by and be the pawn in everyone else's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> In the days leading up to the finale, I will be posting a chapter a day on my take of it. As the plot unravels, more characters, relationships and drama will unfold, in true OUaT fashion. Don't forget to subscribe!

He wakes suddenly, the feeling of falling jerking him awake. Still, he keeps his eyes tightly shut, the dream so vivid and real he can still taste the salt of her tears from their last kiss. He can still feel the wisps of blonde tangles through his fingers, the dampness of her skin as a storm waged around them, the feeling of despair and loss at what was to come… and yet, he can’t quite remember her name. 

 

It’s only when the body next to his shifts does he start guiltily, eyes blinking awake as he turns his head to consider the mess of dark curls on the pillow beside him. Whoever it is he had been dreaming about, she most certainly _hadn’t_ been Milah, and so Killian has no business dreaming of her, regardless of whether or not he controls his dreams. 

 

She stirs but does not wake, moving further away from the middle of the bed to her side - she’s always needed her space, his Milah. Killian clears his eyes from sleep, rubbing and shifting, when something terribly sharp digs into his side. 

 

He stills, the vivid dream disappearing into the ether as he wakes, but even if he can no longer remember her face or the taste of her kiss (what a kiss, dream induced as it was), he knows, with sudden clarity, that the shape of the dagger in the crook of his maimed arm bears a name. 

 

He reaches across, pulling the curious dagger from his side, and how he has not been cut to ribbons in his sleep he doesn’t know - for it is sharp, twisted and heavy. 

 

Killian runs a finger down the etched carving without looking, but he doesn’t have to read it to know that it bears her name… _Emma._


	2. Henry

Henry stares desolately at the now deserted town, sighing at the task he is faced against. In the first two days, he’d been a little giddy with prospect of undertaking a hero’s journey, finally being the hero in the story rather than the kid everyone tries to kidnap to spite his mothers. 

The excitement had faded quickly when he no leads, no ideas, no one to ask for help. As day four approaches, Henry is beginning to think that by the time he’s reunited with his family, he’s going to be well into his 20’s. He’s sure he’ll see them again - absolutely knows he will stop at nothing until he does, but it may take longer. 

Grabbing his self-made grilled cheese sandwich and a bag full of food and supplies, Henry drives the bug back to the apprentice’s mansion - the best place as any to start. The drive takes twice as long as it should, given his lack of driving experience, but all in all, he get’s there in one piece, and he’s pretty proud of himself. 

“Master Henry,” someone says, scaring the crap out of him, and he turns, arms raised to fight the person off. 

It’s only then does he register who the mysterious stranger is. It takes him a second to realise he’s no longer alone.

“You!”

“Yes, me.”

“You’re the apprentice.”

“I am. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Are my moms okay?”

“Not quite,” he says, setting Henry’s teeth on edge, as the old man shifts uncomfortably before him. 

Before he can say another word, the apprentice puts a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. 

“I know you want to rush in and save the day, but I’m afraid there are plots afoot that you must be aware of. Things are not quite as you remember them, and the people you love… well, they’re different.” 

“I know that, the author rewrote the book.”

The apprentice’s hand becomes heavier against his shoulder, and suddenly Henry is reminded that for all his jovial appearance, he is powerful. He can help him get to wherever his family is. 

“He didn’t rewrite the book, no, he took the characters from their own book and transported them into a new one. A divergence of timelines, if you will.”

Henry is sure he is giving him a blank look, because the man continues to speak. 

“You must understand, boy, they’re not cursed, they’re different - their histories, their relationships. You can’t break this with a true love’s kiss.”

“Then how?” he asks, because if that’s all they’ve ever known, what place does he have in their stories? Who is he, really?

“Rumplestiltskin dictated the storyline,” the apprentice says, his tone implying that his grandfather will be punished heavily when this is fixed, “and his pettiness will be his undoing. Killian Jones remembers.”

“Hook???”

“Yes. And because your mother absorbed the power of the Dark One… I reckon she remembers too.” 

“Emma is the Dark One?” 

“The dagger is the key. And if the dagger is not with Miss Swan, it would have been gifted to her true love.”

“So Killian has the dagger,” Henry says, sure as the words leave his mouth that its true. 

The apprentice gives him a look of amusement, a private joke he’s not sharing with Henry as he nods in confirmation. 

“It is most likely, yes. You need to find him, find her, and then find the author. Drive the dagger into the heart of the book.” 

“Who has the book?” 

“And that, my boy, is the golden question.”


	3. Milah

“You’ve been strange, my love,” Milah says, sitting down on his lap at their sparse kitchen. Though they live in abject poverty, they’ve never wanted for anything - they’ve never needed much.

He cups her face, thumbing the mild dent in her chin, and something _is_ strange, the dent not as pronounced as it should be, her eyes brown instead of green… and ever since waking two days, he feels as if everything is not quite right.

“Perhaps it’s time for another adventure,” he says, thinking it’s been far too long since they’ve taken up with the Merry Men.

“About that,” Milah begins, shifting in his lap to reach for an envelope, and it’s a testament to how distracted he is that he missed such an opulent setting on their bare table.

She hands it to him without another word, and Killian blinks in surprise at the words written there.

“Who is Zelena?”

“Regina’s sister,” Milah says.

“What? But that makes no bloody sense.”

“Rumor has it, she’s with child.”

“His?!”

“I’d suppose so,” she says, tone blasé, “Marion was the one who told me. A few months ago, Zelena tricked Robin into her bed - or so the story goes. And now she’s with child.”

“Bloody buggering hell. And _of course_ he’d marry her, it’s the honourable thing to do.”

“You really think this Zelena tricked him?”

Feeling immeasurably annoyed on behalf of his friend, he pushes his wife away, standing to pace.

“Of course she did! We’ve never even heard of her, and Robin’s with Regina, and now this? You can’t be serious to think Robin so base, Milah.”

Milah shrugs, “A man in lust thinks only with one head, Killian, and it’s _not_ the one atop his shoulders.”

He stops, whirling to face her. “You truly believe that? And if this was us? You’d believe me unfaithful?”

She stands, and suddenly, Killian gets the feeling that everything has been leading up to the words she’s about to say.

“Who’s Emma?” she demands, hands on her hips and her question throws him so completely off centre that all he can do is stand there motionless, gaping at her.

“Emma?” He asks, surprise and confusion colouring his tone - a mistake, because her face closes off in anger, and he knows he’s fucked up.

“DON’T LIE TO ME, KILLIAN JONES,” she shrieks, throwing the gilded envelope to the floor.

“I don’t know who she is,” he says, because it’s the truth.

“Likely story, since you’ve been _moaning_ her name in your sleep. You repeat her name like a fucking prayer. You cry out to her at night,” and her temper has turned into tears, but he knows better than to comfort her.

“I don’t know who she is!”

“Get out. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.”

He stares at her blankly, unable to feel anything but numbing confusion and pain.

“Milah, my love,” he tries, unsure what exactly it is he wants to say except that he loves her, he loves her, but there’s the question of Emma that he must answer before he can have peace, whoever she is.

“Don’t. You lying, cheating, no good _pirate_ ,” she yells, the anger back, and she raises a cup, one of the two they have, ready to swing it at him.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, having got a scar on his cheek from their last fight. Killian raises his hand in supplication, moving quickly towards their little bed to unearth his satchel (in which the dagger sits) and a few of his measly possessions.

“You come back when you’ve figured it out,” she snarls, though he is thankful her wedding ring remains on her finger even as she orders him out.

He knows what she asks is that he chooses her (even though there is no choice, at least not one he is cognisant of), asks that he gives her some time to temper her anger, and he knows she expects him home by nightfall.

He loves his wife, he does, but he can’t _not_ know why he has these dreams, why a dagger with her name has appeared to him, and he knows, knows with a certainty he cannot explain, that he must undertake this quest or else perish in a life of uncertainty and longing.

It would be nice, of course, if he knew where to start on said quest.

On the other side of the door, Milah collapses in distress, wondering why her devout husband, after years of trying for a child, has sought the arms of another just as she’s finally fulfilled his desires.

* *

He’s on the outskirts of some town, dressed in a jeans and hoodie and so very out of place. He’s not sure why the apprentice sent him here, and the reason doesn’t come to him until much later in the day, after he’s filched some clothing off a line and wandered into a seedy looking tavern.

“One and done, Jones, you can’t pay for more.”

“On my tab, please,” he says, and Henry gapes at the pitiful form of Captain Hook.

The barkeep laughs, not kindly, as he says, “You can’t pay to lick my boots, Jones. Bugger off.”

Killian glares at the man, and Henry sees the Captain then, the icy blue eyes and the sword at his hip, sees how his shoulders straighten a fraction, and how the other man’s eyes widen at the sudden shift. It’s gone, in the next moment, as Killian takes his pint and moves away from the bar.

Not thinking twice, Henry slides into a seat next to him at the corner of where Killian’s taken up residence.

“Bad day?” he asks, thinking of all the crime shows he used to watch in New York.

Killian’s eyes dart over him, before taking another sip.   “What do you want, laddie?”

“To talk,” Henry says, left hand gripping the only shred of evidence he has. _The apprentice was wrong, he doesn’t remember_ , Henry thinks, tamping down the panic.

“And what could you say that would interest me?”

 _Go big, or go home, Henry_ , he thinks.

“Emma Swan.”

The beer sloshes over the rim as Killian slams the tankard down, shoulders stiff and gaze piercing as he stares at Henry with scrutiny.

“What did you say?”

“Emma Swan. Blonde hair, green eyes, magic.”

“Magic? Ah, a temptress, then. This explains much.”

Sprigs of hope blossoms in his heart - he may not _know_ know her, but he knows her. That’s a start.

“You’ve met her?”

“No,” Killian says, and a curious red tinge starts spreading across his cheeks and ears.

Henry, who is neither stupid nor blind, decides not to continue in that line of questioning, figuring it best to traumatise himself as least as possible throughout this journey.

“We need to help her. She’s in trouble.”

Killian sighs, picking up his beer to take a sip. “I don’t _need_ to do anything.”

“Please, please, Killian.”

“How do you know my name?” the (former?) pirate asks, scrutiny back in his gaze as he tries to figure Henry out.

For his part, Henry’s not sure what’s the best way to go about this. He hadn’t anticipated having to persuade Killian Jones to rescue his mother, not when he knows that if the man remembered, he’d already be half way there to do it himself.

“You won’t believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised to know the things I would,” the man says, and there’s something about the spark in his eyes that makes Henry think that maybe, Captain Hook is very much in there.

And so he speaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story hasn't got the usual response my stories usually get, which makes me wonder if there's just something about the story that people profoundly disagree with... tbqh, I think it's because no one wants to deal with the Millian feels, even though I assure you this is very much a Captain Swan story. If you've read this far, thank you!


	4. Emma

**EMMA**

 

She can’t believe how stupid her crew had been - how vulnerable they’d left the Jolly’s supplies, forcing her to undertake this stupid mission to replenish their stock. Fortunately, there is a wedding of some lord and lady in the coming week, which promises bountiful (and decadent) food, and enough bread for drying to last the ship for a while. 

In her anger, she’d decided to go alone, which she now regrets, given the amount of work she’ll have to do. Emma’s not a stranger to hard work and calloused hands, but in her short years running a ship, she’s come to appreciate the art of delegation. 

She could fall back on her magic, of course, tendrils of it sparking through her skin, but she knows the use of it calls out to the Dark Queen like a beacon, and having escaped from years of imprisonment thanks to her ‘magical potential’, Emma is not keen to face the woman who is immeasurably better at her in controlling her magic. 

_You and your fucking ego, Swan_ , she scolds herself as she trudges through the forest in lieu of exposing herself on the main roads. She’s been skirting it close with the law, her face now joining the hordes of people on Wanted posters across the Enchanted Forest, now that they have a face to put to the notorious Captain Swan.

_Ruby’s fault,_ she thinks darkly. The girl is too impulsive by half, but then again, she’s a werewolf, so Emma is more than happy to forgive her for her shortcoming’s as long as she continues to rip out the throats of their enemies.

“Move, and I’ll put this arrow through your eye,” a voice says, not at all menacing. 

Emma stops, raising an eyebrow at the person who has creeped up to her side, holding a bow and arrow steady despite how her voice shakes. 

“Don’t move,” the woman says again. 

She’s dressed in squirrel furs and threadbare boots, peasant clothes, and Emma could disarm her and run her sword through her skull in less time than it would take for the peasant woman to unleash her arrow. 

“And why exactly, are you threatening me?” she asks, bored and unmoving as she considers the woman before her.There’s a spark of something beneath her brown eyes and a defiance in her chin that tells Emma she’d be a useful ally for the next three days. That, she tells herself, is the only reason she hasn’t disposed of her. 

“I… I need your sword. And your food. Now.” 

“What if I lent you my sword, I am after all, more skilled.” 

The woman’s eyes widen, arm dropping a fraction - enough so that she’s rendered her weapon harmless. 

_Got you,_ Emma thinks. 

“You’d help me?” the woman asks, shoulders relaxing further, and it’d be so easy to clock her in the jaw and immobilise her, yet Emma stays her hand. 

“That depends,” she says, “what do you need help with?”

The woman’s guard drops completely, a loud sigh escaping her lips as she tells her story. “The love of my life is marrying a nasty, lying _bitch.”_

Emma can’t help it - she laughs. It’s such a mundane, _peasant_ problem to have, such a jejune matter to ask the help of a pirate. 

The woman’s eyes narrow, fire igniting as her cheeks redden. “You’ve clearly never been in love to laugh at someone else’s pain.” 

_Love? What is love, when you’ve been abandoned, feared and then vilified? What’s love when people use you for what you have, only then to drop you when you no longer are use to them? What’s love but power?_

And though she shares none of her thoughts, her smile drops, considering the woman before her. She’s learnt a lot in her time as Captain, a chief skill being able to read people quickly - in this case, her first assessment is right. She’d be a valuable ally, unassuming at best. 

“Alright, where is this marriage and who is this bitch?” 

“Two days walk from here. Lady Zelena,” she says, the name of the woman coming out in an angry hiss. 

“Zelena? She’s the one marrying Lord Hood?” and then, catching on, “your love is Lord Robin Hood?”

The red in the woman’s cheek stays. “Yes. I… we…. I just wished I knew why?”

Emma frowns, her heart, as dark and black as it must be, feels a twinge of pity for this woman who has fallen in love with a man who would be so callous. She’ll enjoy making them pay _while_ replenishing their stock. It works out nicely. 

“Let’s find out then,” Emma says decisively, moving forward with purpose while the woman scrambles to join her. 

“I’m Regina, by the way,” she says, when she’s caught up beside her.

“Emma,” she replies shortly, eyeing the road for a village up ahead. 

 

* * 

 

**KILLIAN**

 

The boy, Henry, has told him many a wondrous tale. But beyond the stories he weaves of a world without magic, is the implication that everything in Killian life has been a lie. Milah is very much alive, angry, but alive, and the idea that she’s no more than a figment of his imagination is unsettling and upsetting. 

 

Yet, of all the truths the boy has supposedly told, he insists that this be the most important. 

 

“ _Please don’t hate me, Killian but I need you to understand,” he’d said, eyes wide and upset._

 

_“Your life here is not real. Whatever life you think you have, is supposed to be your greatest wish come true, which will be soon ripped from you. Whoever you are here is meant to bring you your greatest sadness.”_

 

_And he remembers how his heart had stopped, fearing for his wife’s safety, thinking angrily that perhaps the boy was the thing that was trying to rip him away from her, had come here on some witch’s request to disrupt him, for what purpose he could not figure…_

 

_After all, poverty stricken as he may be, he’d hardly call himself his greatest sadness._

 

_“She’s dead,” Henry had continued mournfully, “and no matter how powerful, the author can’t bring back the dead. She’s either someone else, or she’s not real.”_

 

_And he had meant to walk away, he truly had, but then the boy had showed him something he couldn’t deny and then they had returned to his hut, only to find it gone, not a single trace, and his heart told him Milah had been dead for years yet his mind knew he’d only seen her hours ago. And so he had cried for a while, unashamed, because it was just like Henry had said - when he had tried to recount specific things or events, he couldn’t, the boy explaining that seeing as how this book was still being written, these things would fall apart at the seams if scrutinised too closely._

 

It was why they had been on this fool’s errand for three days now, Henry insisting that if they didn’t find Emma that the universe itself may not hold together, and they’d all simply vanish into the ether. It was all far too confusing for him, so he hadn’t questioned it. 

 

In his simple mind, one thing became clear. 

 

_Find Emma Swan._

 

* * *

 

**REGINA**

 

The blonde woman is fearsome, Regina thinks, slightly awed and scared by the way she wields her sword. Regina’s been leading the Merry Men unassumingly for years now, and she’s no fainting daisy, much more capable than her meek exterior would suggest, but she’s got to admit that there’s a different kind of mastery to being head-on brash and fearless. 

Still, Emma had saved her against the so-called knight - if Emma really was some kind of pirate, she’d have hurt Regina by now, so she thinks the knight means to discredit Emma. For whatever reason she’s on those wanted posters besides Regina’s own portrait, she’s sure they’re just as outrageous and innocent as to her own ‘crimes’. 

As each day passes, she grows more and more concerned that they will not reach Sherwood in time. Robin surely would not deceive her heart, there must have been some force (Zelena’s) that had cooked up the hasty wedding, and it’s the only explanation she’s willing to suffer until she sees him in person. 

“We’ve got to go on the main road now,” Emma says, breaking her out of her thoughts. 

“We’re at the bridge already?” Regina asks, hope renewed. Whatever else Knight Rumple had said against her, Emma clearly knew the lay of the land. 

“Aye. Come now, and pull up the hood of your coat.” 

They do so, moving quickly, their forms creating shadows as the sinking sun counts down their time. 

Her foot has just landed on the packed road, when two figures burst through the foliage. 

Beside her, Emma draws her sword instinctively and Regina her bow, making the two men stop, mouths agog, as they take their adversaries in. For a moment, Regina thinks it’s because of the state of their dress, or the drawn weapons, but then, simultaneously, they say, 

“Mom!”

“Emma."

Regina stops, turning to look at Emma - she’d have never pegged the woman for a mother. 

“What? Who? Me?” Emma says, apparently never imagining herself as a mother either. 

“Well, you’re _both_ my mothers,” the younger of the two says, and Regina turns her attention to him, seeing nothing of herself in the boy. Brown hair and brown eyes aren’t all that uncommon, and he carries none of her disposition. Come to think of it, she can’t see much of Emma in the boy either. 

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she says, finding her voice, watching the woman beside her scrutinise the boy so thoroughly he might be a tasty dish. “Besides, we _both_ can’t be your mother.” 

“Who are you?” Emma demands, sword raised just a little higher at the older man. For his part, he looks completely dumbfounded, staring solely at the blonde woman, and Regina can’t help but think he can’t be the first one to be so taken by her beauty. 

“My name is Killian,” the man with the beard says, and she belatedly realises that he is missing a hand. 

“And I’m Henry. Your son.”

“I don’t have a son. Whatever your business, leave. You can cross the bridge once we’re safe on the other side.” 

“I don’t think so,” Killian says, stepping forward slowly even as he eyes Emma’s sword warily, “we’ve come to find you.” 

Feeling as though she’s intruding, Regina watches the boy, who is tethering between frustration and excitement, looking as though he’d like to rush forward into his mother’s arms but afraid she’d push him away. 

But then, hadn’t he said they were _both_ his mothers? Perhaps, she thought, the boy was touched in the head, and the man who accompanied him seemed meek enough to indulge the boy. 

“And what business do you have with a pirate?” 

Regina gasps, and she sees the regretful look Emma throws her way, the Knight Rumple’s words ringing in her ears as she remembers the accusations hurled. 

If Emma meant her words to intimidate, however, the opposite is what results. Henry lets out a loud laugh, a bright grin blinding his features as he says, “Oh, this is a good one! You’re him!”

He’s pointing to Killian, and the man in question shrugs, catching Regina’s eyes in a helpless look. Clearly, he’s just as clueless as the rest of them, and perhaps they should send this Henry for help in a healer’s cottage. 

“We have somewhere to be and you’re wasting our time,” Emma snaps, stowing away her sword. She seems to have decided the two are not a threat, grabbing Regina by the sleeve to tug her forward. 

“We’re crossing the bridge now. If you attempt to follow us through, I’ll slit your throat.” 

“Where are you going?” Killian asks, and Regina, having been brought up in nothing but manners, answers instinctively. 

“Sherwood, for the wedding.” 

Emma shoots her an irritated look but says nothing, her green eyes darting to the boy and man in hints of confusion. 

_She knows them,_ Regina realises. 

Unwilling to be tugged around in another game, she stops, pulling the blonde woman to a halt just before the bridge. 

“Wait.” 

Emma huffs irritatedly, eyes once again drifting to the boy and man who are following behind languidly.

“You know them,” she accuses. 

“I do not.” 

“You do,” Henry says, having caught up, face bright with hope. 

“I know you,” Killian says, looking at Emma stupidly. 

_What a lovestruck fool,_ she thinks disgustedly. Perhaps a spurned lover? 

“Dreaming about faces isn’t the same as knowing them!” Emma snaps at them, and then grimaces when she realises what she’s admitted. 

“You’ve been dreaming too?” Killian asks softly, and both Henry and her make a face at the way the two of them have unconsciously angled their bodies to stare each other in the eyes. 

“So many faces,” Emma sighs, “nightmares and a different life. What does it matter?” 

“Mom,” Henry says urgently, “I need you to remember. I’ll explain, I promise. I promise. But you’ve got to trust me, please.” 

The glare Emma turns on him softens, and Regina realises with a sigh that their party of two just became four, and she’s going to have to endure another day’s walk with the two idiots making eyes at each other, while she tries desperately not to wonder why the boy had said they were both his mother’s, yet seems only interested in the one who looks least like him. 

Even if he’s lying and the whole thing is absolutely crazy, she can’t help but think, once again, no one is choosing her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is running away with me. It was supposed to be short instalments from different character POV's and yet it keeps getting longer! Expect the final chapter up soon, and maybe even a little coda after. So excited for the finale on Sunday!


End file.
